


Rite of Passage

by reve_silencieux



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reve_silencieux/pseuds/reve_silencieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was turning out to be one of the worst days of Sara's life, and she wants no one around to witness it. Neal, unfortunately, has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written a couple of years ago - set in early season 3.

Sara was humiliated.

She wanted to run as far away as possible, never to be seen here again. That, and take a shower. The woman next to her smelled like a chimney and had a gray complexion to match. She was coughing up a storm, and most likely hacking up her lung, too. Sara inched further down the bench, nearly falling off, but not particularly caring at the moment. She glanced at her watch one more time and sighed.

“Ellis?” A low voice called out.

Her head shot up and she rose almost immediately. Keys clanged against the bars as the door was opened, and she tried to walk out gracefully even though she knew there was no one here to impress. She was desperately trying to hold onto the little dignity she had left. 

Directed to a phone, she held her breath as she punched in Peter’s phone number, and was grateful she even remembered it. Sara had debated whether to call Sterling Bosch, but had decided it was best not to let her employer know she’d been arrested. They might not mind how she recovered some items, but they’d rather she do it quietly and without repercussions. She prayed that she could get out of this without them finding out.

Personally, she wished no one had to find out, but of anyone, she figured Peter would at least be kind enough not to laugh or patronize her. He also came with the added bonus of being law enforcement, and could hopefully get her out of this mess. She’d owe him another favor, but quite frankly, that was the least of her worries.

“Burke,” he answered when he picked up.

“Peter, it’s Sara. I need your help,” she quickly blurted out, nervously watching the officer standing a few feet away from her. He was a big, bulky black man who was probably used to handling prostitutes and drug addicts, and wouldn't care one way or another that this was turning out to be one of the worst days of her life.

“Sara! What can I do for you?”

Peter’s calm but cheerful voice gently reassured her that she’d made the right decision. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her rapidly beating heart. It would be alright. Peter would help her.

“First, I need you to keep this between us. I don’t want Neal to know.”

He paused, and she could tell he was hesitating, clearly uncomfortable with her request. “What’s wrong, Sara?”

She noticed he didn’t agree, but knew better than to push it. “I’m down at the 19th Precinct. I was hoping you could get me out, pull some strings.”

There was another pause as he digested her carefully worded response. Sara could hardly believe it’d happened, much less say it out loud. It was as if she didn’t say it, that it might make it less of a reality. She did have ink on her fingers to remind her exactly how _real_ today had been and that it hadn't been a nightmare, even though it felt like one. Still clutching a ratty tissue in her other hand, she’d been trying to rub it off, without getting her dress dirty, to no avail.

Not that she’d be wearing this dress any time soon. She wasn’t sure dry cleaning could remove the stench of the holding cell or the memories associated with today’s events.

“Sara…” he said her name slowly, “are you saying you’ve been arrested?”

She closed her eyes and her stomach clenched. “Yes.”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

The knots in her stomach weren’t gone, but they relaxed just a little and she whispered, “Thank you, Peter.”

She hung up the phone and stood up on shaky legs. The officer grabbed her arm and walked her back to the cell. 

Her dignity was long past gone.

*~*~*~*

“I’m disappointed in you, Repo, I thought I’d taught you better. What’s the use of showing you how to pick handcuffs if you don’t even try to escape?”

“Neal!” Sara looked up, startled, and felt her face flush at the sight of him standing there. She got up to meet him, stopping just short of the bars, and crossed her arms over her chest. He stood there with a grin on his face, holding his hat between his fingers. She noticed he carefully stood a distance from the bars as well, and wondered if he felt uncomfortable being here. Of course, seeing bars between them didn't exactly surprise her, given that she'd tried so hard to put him away several years ago. However, the fact that it was _her_ behind them greatly disturbed her.

And from the looks of things, it appeared Neal was thinking the same thing. His eyes twinkled. He was obviously finding the role reversal amusing. Sara was never going to hear the end of this.

Glaring at him, she snapped, “What are you doing here? I told Peter not to tell you.”

“It’s a little hard when I’m standing right next to him. You do remember that I work with him, right?” He smirked, rocking back on his feet and spinning his damn hat in his hands.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and eyed him wearily. “How'd you get back here? Where's Peter?”

“I have my ways,” he replied vaguely, waving his hand, and by extension his hat, in the air. She rolled her eyes. “And Peter is working to get your charges dropped.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief and she let out a long breath. Hopefully this would all be over soon. She glanced at him and watched as his eyelids crinkled up as he took a good look at her, coming to rest on her shoes - plain white slip-ons. His eyebrows shot up and he chuckled. “Nice shoes.”

Sara huffed, already embarrassed enough. She did _not_ need Neal's teasing on top of everything. "They took my shoes - said they could be considered weapons."

Neal's laughter shook his entire body, and she scowled at him. He gave her an impish grin. “Sara, your shoes ARE weapons. I should know.”

Thankfully, if anyone could hear them, they wouldn't understand exactly what Neal was referring to, but all the same, it made Sara want to crawl in a hole and disappear. She blushed as she remembered the one time they had stumbled over each other, in a hurry to make it to his bed, and one of her heels accidentally stabbed him. It hadn't been _that_ bad, barely breaking the skin, but he would never let her forget it.

“This isn't funny, Neal!”

He quickly wiped the smile from his face, but his eyes told another story. She nearly slapped him through the bars but stopped herself, knowing that not only would it not help her situation, but would also bring unwanted attention to Neal, who wasn't even supposed to be back here. But his presence, while annoying, was comforting. If anyone knew what she was feeling and going through, it was him.

“Oh, come on, you have to laugh at it, or else it's going to hurt a lot more than it needs to.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. She needed to move, stretch her legs, do _something_. Sara wasn't claustrophobic, but being stuck in the small space was getting to her. How had Neal handled this for four years?

“It's going to be okay, Sara. You'll be out of here in no time.”

“It is NOT okay, Neal!” she exclaimed and started to pace alongside the bars. It was better than nothing, and she really needed to work off her restless energy. It wasn't quite as rewarding, especially without her heels, but it was better than the alternative, which included standing inches away from Neal and the temptation to either slap him or grab onto him for dear life.

“Sara...” His voice softened and he looked at her, concerned. 

“I was arrested, Neal. _Arrested!_ ” she hissed. “I have a record now.”

“Think of it like a rite of passage. I mean, in this business...” He shrugged. “I'm surprised it hasn't happened already.”

She shot him a withering look. “Gee, that's comforting.”

“Elizabeth's been arrested - twice.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked up surprised. “Really?”

He nodded. “College. See? It happens to the best of us.”

“I was strip searched!”

Neal winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay, I'll give you that. Those are never fun. But you lived through it. And I doubt you'll ever let it happen again.”

Sara rested her hands on her hips and gave him a knowing look. “I'm not so sure. With my luck, if I hang out with you anymore, I'll probably be hauled in again.”

And why did that thought not surprise her? It was saying something when the idea of being arrested with Neal Caffrey almost sounded like just another day to her. Oh sure, she’d give him hell for it, but she wouldn’t be alone and terrified out of her mind, like she had been today.

“Peter would get us out. He always does.” He grinned.

Rolling her eyes, she threw her arms up, exasperated. Of course he’d think that way. It was a least a step in the right direction, instead of suggesting they’d run for it after getting caught, like he normally would. Although she had no doubt that there’d be plenty of running beforehand.

Half an hour later, Sara was reasonably calm when Peter and an officer showed up in front of the cell. Neal was leaning against the bars, arm stretched out, and gently rubbing circles on the back of her palm. They weren't talking, just quietly waiting as Neal tried to keep her from self-combusting. The physical contact had helped Sara compose herself, reminding her that she wasn't alone and wouldn't be stuck there for the foreseeable future.

Neal quickly let go of her hand and straightened up when he spotted them. Peter looked mildly annoyed at finding Neal there, but didn't seem too surprised. “Okay, Sara, it's been cleared up. You're free to go.”

She shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Peter.”

“I would say it was nothing, but I'm worried you've been hanging around him too much,” Peter replied, jerking a thumb at his partner. Neal, for his part, just winked at her and beamed.

The officer pulled out his keys and started to open the jail cell when Neal stopped him. “Wait!” He whipped out his cell phone and snapped a picture of her behind bars. “Perfect. Now we can keep this as a memento.”

It took all of her self-restraint to keep from strangling him when she stepped out, and she shot him a thunderous look. Peter chuckled and looked away.

Neal didn't seem fazed and reached for her hand. As they walked out, he called out to the officer, “Would it be possible to get a copy of her mug shot? I mean, the wedding slideshow just won’t be the same without his and hers.”

Sara dug into his hand with her nails and he yelped, pulling away from her quickly.

“Now, now, Bonnie and Clyde... Do I need to send you both back in there?” Peter looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

Neal shook his head and flashed him a huge grin. “Nope, we're good.”


	2. Chapter 2

After politely declining an offer for a ride home from Peter (and a counter-offer from Neal to go to his place where’d he help scrub her back), Sara took a cab to her apartment and enjoyed a rather long shower.

Alone.

Not that she wasn’t tempted by his proposition, but she desperately wanted to go home and wallow by herself. She needed to get out of these clothes, wash the smell out of her hair (even if the smell was only in her head), and have a glass of wine… or two.

Besides, Peter had given Neal a rather annoyed look, reminding him that they still had to finish up some paperwork at the office. Neal had reluctantly parted ways with her, giving her a cheeky grin and a promise to frame her mug shot. Before she could even reply, Peter dragged Neal away and he waved, flipping his hat on his head as they walked down the sidewalk.

Sara was a solitary person, and she handled her problems on her own. She might have called Peter to help her today, but she would deal with her own humiliation and defeat the way she dealt with everything – hard work, determination, and her baton if needed.

Later that evening, Sara was happily ensconced in a mound of pillows on her couch, with a stack of files in her lap and a glass of wine on her coffee table, when there was a knock on her front door. There was only one person that would show up now, and she was tempted to ignore him. However, Neal was nothing but stubbornly persistent, and he would eventually just find his way in. 

Carefully moving all her files to the table, she got up and worked the kinks out of her neck and shoulders before moving towards the door. He was still in his suit and tie when she opened it. His patented Caffrey smile did not surprise her, but the cake box in his hands did.

She raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Do I want to know?"

He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen, and Sara followed him with a sigh. 

"I thought you deserved a reward for making it through today."

"I'd rather forget today ever happened," she replied, watching as he set the box down on her kitchen table and opened it with a flourish. He stood to the side, waiting with an expectant look that reminded her of a puppy looking to be praised by his master. Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward and glanced down at the cake.

The cake was small and was covered in white frosting. It had the usual curly swirl of icing along the edges, but the top was covered with a bright yellow image of the 'Get out of jail free' card from Monopoly. She shot him an annoyed look. "Cute, Caffrey."

Neal shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "For next time."

"There will be no next time."

"One day you're going to laugh at this.” He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “You just need to relax. You're home, you've showered, it's over." 

She frowned and rested her hands on his shoulders. “I still feel dirty, and I bet I still smell.”

“Be glad you weren't in the drunk tank. That smell takes _days_ to wash off.”

“You've been in the drunk tank?” The thought of the unflappable and suave Neal Caffrey, drunk off his ass and thrown in with the rest of the degenerate population, made her smile.

"Once.” He paused and looked a bit sheepish, but his eyes danced with mischief. "Never play poker with Russians.”

Sara’s smile stretched even wider and she played with a curl of his hair on the back his neck. “They do love their vodka.”

“They do.” He leaned in, kissing her softly.

Breaking apart, she looked up at him with a sly smile. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Neal cocked his head to the side and thought for a moment before nodding. “Deal.” Giving her a quick kiss, he stepped back. “But first – cake.”

She blinked, the mood suddenly broken, and her hands fell to her side. “What’s so special about this cake? Somehow I doubt you had time to go home and bake it yourself.”

“No, but I do own a bakery.” He moved towards her pantry and rummaged through her bin of coffee before picking a bag and turning around, closing the door behind him.

Sara crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

“Later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She waited while he ground the coffee beans and started the coffee maker. He moved around her kitchen like he owned it, pulling out plates and a knife without digging through all the cabinets and drawers. Neal hadn’t spent that much time at her place, but it was apparent that he felt at home. Sara wondered if this was just a gift of his, always comfortable and at ease wherever he went, or if it was because it was her place. 

It made her pause and consider the implications of that – they hadn’t been “dating” long, but she was learning to trust him more and more, forgetting that just a few years ago she had called him a sociopath at his trial. In short, they’d come a long way, and she would bet neither of them would have imagined this moment back then.

“I’ll bake you a soufflé or even crème brûlée on our next date.”

“Is that what this is?" Sara scoffed. "I could have sworn this little soirée was just to rub it in that I got arrested.”

He chuckled and shrugged, leaning back against the counter. “Whatever you feel like calling it.”

Sara didn’t know how she felt about it. Their relationship up until this point had been rather unorthodox, and even their attempt at a dinner date hadn’t gone as planned. Not to say it hadn’t been enjoyable, but a girl liked to be wined and dined occasionally. Home cooked meals and crème brûlée was every girl’s dream date.

Busting her out of jail and getting her a cake, on the other hand? Well, that was typical Neal, and she was strangely aroused by it. Sara was pretty sure they would never be a normal couple.

The coffee finished brewing and he poured them both mugs, making hers just to her liking and setting them on the table. He then sliced into the cake and lifted a small piece onto a plate. It wasn’t typical vanilla, Sara was happy to see, as the dark chocolate cake tumbled off the spatula. She really wasn’t a cake person, unless cheesecake counted. 

He handed her a fork and the plate, and she eyed it curiously. She took a bite and was surprised when it practically melted in her mouth. It was sinfully smooth and it was the deepest and darkest chocolate she’d ever tasted.

“Oh, this is good.”

He beamed and took a bite of his own cake. “I know.”

Sara took another bite and nearly moaned. There was a thin layer of amaretto filling in the middle, and it was heavenly. Whoever had made this had not skimped on the liqueur. She closed her eyes, savoring the sweet confection, and thought that maybe she would like cake more if they could all be like this.

"What I'd give to paint a picture of you right now." His voice turned low, and she opened her eyes and found him staring at her, blue eyes darkened, pupils dilated and his irises nearly non-existent. "I might have to make that soufflé sooner rather than later."

She shifted in her chair, wondering if he'd even get to his story. As much as a night of sex to wear her out sounded appealing after her day, she was still a little wound up and needed this time just to talk and relax. And possibly hear an embarrassing tale of Neal's as well. It was always good to hear you weren't the only one to make a fool out of yourself.

“So spill. Russians. Poker. How’d you end up in the drunk tank?” she asked, pointing her fork at him.

Neal leaned back in his chair, and took a slow drink. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and he smirked. "It's not that interesting, really. I'm sure you can imagine what happened."

She leaned back in her chair and cocked her head, smiling. “Enlighten me.”

“There had been a rumor going around that there was a new Kandinsky coming on the market. I had a good feeling that the Russians had it, so I started to hang out at an underground Russian poker room.”

“This wasn’t run by the Russian mob, was it?”

Neal shook his head and laughed. “You watch too much TV. No, this was just your run-of-the-mill illegal casino. The Russians only wanted a place to play poker. Don’t worry, I make it a point to never associate with the mob.”

“But still, doesn’t sound like you’d fit in there.”

He shrugged, picking up his fork, and scraped some of the frosting off the cake. “It’s open to those who know about it. Besides, they want your money.”

Sara smiled knowingly. “They cheat, don’t they?”

Grinning, he nodded. “They do. The first few times you play, they let you win, but after that – forget it. You’re open game. But I knew that going in. I just needed them to get comfortable with me, to trust me. I went around, playing with different groups, listening in, feeling them out. I knew I’d hear something.”

“You wanted to know who had the Kandinsky.”

“I wanted to know which Kandinsky,” he corrected her. He dropped the fork on his plate and crossed his arms on the table. “When a new piece like this comes out, it’s hot, there’s a lot of interest. But usually no one knows who has it or who’s buying. Sure, there are rumors and a few might know the parties involved, but it’s better to keep it as quiet as possible so the Feds don’t hear about it. I just wanted in on the action.”

“It was never about stealing it,” she realized out loud. “You wanted to forge it and sell your own copy.” 

He straightened up, and shrugged. “No one’s going to admit to buying it, so as long the interest is there, I could take advantage of it.”

She pursed her lips and glanced away. The Raphael print hung on her living room wall, partly a reminder of what she was after, but also because she liked the painting. Most people were content with prints, but some people wanted the real thing, and didn’t care how they got their hands on it. If it weren’t for the fact that it was illegal, she’d almost think it was poetic justice that they were buying forgeries.

“So what happened? Did you find out?”

“After three visits, I finally heard who had it, and that he’d be showing up that weekend. So I went out and bought two bottles of the best Russian vodka out there. The kind you don’t normally find at the corner liquor store.”

“Wouldn’t that make them suspicious?” she asked, finishing off the last of her cake, licking the gooey filling off the fork.

“In this world, everyone’s always trading favors. Making nice is always appreciated. It’s better than pulling a gun on them.”

“I’m assuming you talk from experience – that is, being on the other end of the gun.”

He smirked. “Allegedly.”

Sara rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew he was good with words, and he was confident in his ability to get out of any situation, but the idea of talking his way out of a bullet was a little too real for her. Even dealing with Russians, mob or not, made her realize that his life wasn’t always the glamorous carefree existence that he projected. Neal might have been the gentleman thief, but the people he dealt with were anything but.

Hearing that he had tried to liquor someone up – that didn’t surprise her, and she couldn’t help but admire the sheer audacity of his plan even though it sounded fundamentally flawed to her. She chuckled at the mental picture of Neal throwing back shots with the Russians. While she already knew how it ended, it was a foregone conclusion in her mind – and it wasn’t pretty. 

“So how exactly did you think this would go over? I mean, you getting them drunk, _that_ I understand, but you couldn’t exactly expect to stay sober through all of this.”

Neal grimaced and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I had hoped to stick with wine. Maybe have a shot or two to be polite. I figured they wouldn’t mind – more for them. It was supposed to be a nice gesture on my part.”

“I’m guessing that it didn’t go that way.”

“Oh, they were very appreciative of the vodka. And they’d been drinking long before I’d arrived, so they were well on their way to drunken oblivion. Unfortunately, that also meant they wanted me to join them. Russians are very… happy drunks. Loud, too.” He winced at the memory. “They drink vodka like it’s water.”

“You got wasted,” she stated, clearly amused.

Neal looked slightly embarrassed and nodded emphatically. “Completely.” 

“Lightweight,” she teased.

“You would have been out of it, too. I lost track of how many shots I had. At one point I found the word _babushka_ so funny that my laugher nearly set off World War III because one guy thought I was insulting his grandmother.”

“Did you get the name, at least?”

“Nope. But I did win $10,000.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “What? How? You can’t tell me that you – oh wait… _you cheated!_ ”

He smiled innocently and shrugged his shoulders. “What? They cheated, too. I needed my money to last the night, so I had some aces up my sleeve – literally.”

“You got caught, didn’t you?”

“Yep,” he grinned, “and they tossed me out quicker than you can say _do svidaniya._ ”

Sara laughed softly. “Oh, Neal… So I take it you got picked up by the police after that?”

“I might have been found passed out on a bench in Central Park at 2 a.m.” He picked up his mug and drained the rest of the coffee. “So that’s my story. Time for yours.”

Sara idly played with her fork. Her cake was long gone, and she suddenly felt the need for something to hide behind. She was embarrassed, but this was Neal. He already knew what happened; he wouldn’t judge. Besides, he’d done a lot worse, she reminded herself.

Neal’s hand reached out and covered hers; she stilled and looked up. He was smiling softly at her. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

She felt her heart flutter and warmth spread through her stomach. This was the Neal Caffrey she liked, the man behind the con man, who talked and listened and held her hand while she was going out of her mind in a holding cell. She took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile.

“I’d seen an interview with Jonathan Ryder, CEO of Ryder Consulting, an investment consulting firm, in a local magazine. He was trying to portray himself as this humble, down-to-earth guy. The picture was taken in his home office and I spotted a bust on his bookshelf that I recognized as stolen. It wasn’t one of ours, but it had been taken at the same time as a painting I’d been trying to track down.”

“He was a collector.”

Sara nodded. “It appeared that way. Although, in his interview, he talked about keeping his blue-collar roots and how he and his wife still lived in the same brownstone they bought when they married twenty years ago. I looked into him – he doesn’t have help beyond a maid who cleans once a week. His home has what seemed to be a typical home security setup. No guards, no dogs, just a friendly security sticker on the window.”

Neal shook his head lightly. “But with that kind of art, he has to have something. I mean, he either hired or bought through the black market. He can’t be that stupid.”

“I figured he was either extremely cocky or had a safe. So I went in, hoping to get lucky and find it hanging on the wall.” She paused and Neal squeezed her hand. “Unfortunately, his security was better than I had anticipated. I tripped a motion sensor, but hoped I could find the painting before the police arrived.”

“And it was just your luck that the NYPD actually responded in a timely manner.”

“So it would seem." Sara let out a bitter laugh and pulled her hand back. "And they didn’t care too much for my explanation.”

Neal chuckled and smiled sympathetically. “They do tend to arrest first, ask questions later. Did you at least find the painting?”

She shook her head. “No, but I did find a different one up in his office than what I’d seen in the magazine.”

“It must be in a safe then.” Neal frowned as he considered this. He leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the table. "It's possible the motion sensors are on a different network, or maybe he has remote monitoring. Hopefully it's just as simple as disabling the router next time."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. “Oh no, no, _no!_ I’m not going back there!”

“Why not?”

“You know why,” Sara replied, a little incredulous.

“I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”

“Neal, I’ve already spent one afternoon in jail, that’s enough for me. I’d rather not go through that again.”

“We won’t get caught, trust me.”

“ _We?_ Since when was this a ‘we’ situation?”

“Can you crack a safe?”

Sara shot him a scathing look. “We don’t know if there is one.”

“All the more reason for me to be there.”

"Need I remind you of your anklet? I hardly think it's a smart idea to break into a guy's house when you can be tracked to the scene of the crime." She stopped and threw her hands up in the air. "Listen to me! I can't believe I'm even discussing this - _it's illegal!"_

Pushing her chair back, she stood up and left the room. Neal followed her to the living room as she sat down on the couch, pulling her leg underneath her. She clutched a pillow to her chest and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling growing in her stomach.

"You already broke into his house," he pointed out as he settled next to her. "That's not a very compelling argument you're making here. Forget about what's right or wrong, or whether it's illegal. This is your job, and I'm only trying to help. Don't think of me as an ex-con, but as your boyfriend, who just so happens to have a certain skill set."

She rolled her eyes and shot back, "What about Peter?"

"He won't have any reason to check. As long as the police aren't involved, we're free and clear. Ryder won't be calling to report a stolen painting that's gone missing. Sara, stop worrying, we'll be fine," he assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"I should just tip the police off to the stolen bust and let them deal with him."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as his face lit up. "Look, you want the painting, right?"

Sara sighed and nodded, picking at a loose thread on the pillow. She knew shouldn't be considering this, even though it was looking like the best option.

"We go in and grab it, and if it's not there, you can still tip off the police - heck, tip them off even if we do grab it. It'll make you feel better.”

"Ryder will know about my attempt. He may try to move it," she tried to argue.

"I'll have Mozzie keep an eye on him."

“How do we know–”

He stopped her with a finger on her mouth. “Relax… I know what I’m doing.” 

She was ready to point out that he'd been caught before, but then he leaned in and captured her lips in a gentle kiss. He cupped her cheek and softly rubbed his thumb in circles before trailing a line of kisses down her neck.

They started to slide down the back of the couch, his hands moving down the length of her body, and when she fell back, head hitting another pillow, he was staring down at her with a look that almost made her forget the reason he was even there. She blinked and shook her head, laying a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“There will be no conjugal visits if we’re caught and they throw your ass back in prison.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ask most any girl and they would admit that they had a thing for bad boys. Hollywood probably romanticized them too much, showing them as caring and misunderstood. They were really good guys, right? But Sara knew there was just something about going against the rules, the norm and whatever else society said you shouldn’t do. It made a girl turn a blind eye towards the obvious. She’d been that girl when she was younger, but she’d grown up and learned that there was a line she didn’t cross. 

However, lately she had thrown it all out the window by falling for Neal Caffrey. And look at her now—breaking into a home with him to steal a painting just days after being arrested for having done the exact same thing herself. She’d been trying to rationalize it—after all, this was for her job and not for the fun of it, but Sara knew she was only making up excuses for the fact that she was secretly excited.

Which was wrong—very, very wrong.

Seeing Neal in full-out cat burglar mode was not helping either. The black leather jacket over the black turtleneck, the tight black jeans… they were almost enough to make a girl forget her name.

She was similarly dressed in a black turtleneck, a pair of slim black ponté knit pants that she knew hugged her in all the right places, and a thigh-length black coat that tied around her waist. The coat hopefully made it appear less obvious that she was dressed for a break-in. 

“Sara, you look…” Neal swallowed hard and Sara would have felt self-conscious if she hadn’t been admiring his outfit as much as he was admiring hers. She couldn’t help but notice, with a wry smile, that his pants were conspicuously tighter. Sara was about to call it all off right then and drag him to the bed, when he shook his head and walked over to the kitchen table.

Spell broken, she snapped out of it and watched him curiously. He picked up something dark from the table and turned back around. Neal walked up to her and she saw it was a black hat in his hands. He reached up and tugged the pageboy hat over her head.

Stepping back, he looked her over and smiled, nodding. “Much better.”

“What’s with you and hats, Caffrey?” she asked, amused.

He shrugged. “They complete the look. Much like your shoes…” he trailed off as he glanced down and frowned. “Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Sara had chosen a pair of four inch black dress boots, and thought she was doing well, considering her entire closet was full of high heels.

“You do realize we’re breaking into a home, not going out for the night? Can you even run in those?” he asked, incredulously.

“Who said anything about running? You swore we wouldn’t get caught.” She fixed a glare on him and crossed her arms over her chest.

He tossed her an annoyed look. “Yes, I know I said that. I just think something a little more practical would be a better choice in case of anything that _could_ happen.”

“The only running shoes I own are white, and I think even you would agree the boots are better.”

Neal looked like he was about to say something but wisely closed his mouth and smiled. He held out his arm like a gentleman. “How about we go steal a painting now?”

Sara raised an eyebrow and looked at him pointedly.

“Recover,” he quickly amended.

She took his proffered arm and they moved towards the door. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this—at night, no less.”

“Don’t worry. Ryder and his wife have a standing reservation at Monte Bello on Friday nights.”

“And you know this how?”

Neal grinned and she rolled her eyes. 

“Never mind. Forget I asked.”

*~*~*~*

Sara had fallen into her job by happenstance, but she had found she was good at it. She liked the thrill of recovering a painting or a high-end sports car, even though, as Neal had put it, she was a “high class repo man.” Just like falling for the bad boy, recovery had the allure of breaking the rules. However, at least it was for the right reasons.

Working with Neal Caffrey, though, had blown all of that out of the water. She had toed the line plenty of times, knowing how to bypass security systems and charming her way into places, much like Neal and every other thief out there. But watching Neal in action, from sneaking in and disabling _all_ of the security, to finding and cracking the safe, had been some of the most fun she’d had in a long time. 

Slinking away hand in hand with Neal, she grinned at the knowledge that she had recovered her painting and taken pictures of several other stolen pieces that the police would soon learn about.

Neal had been right; it _did_ make her feel better. 

“That was incredible!” She laughed out loud and shook her head in amazement. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

Spinning her around, he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned in. “Think that was fun? Imagine what we could do together. We’d make a great team…”

She held her hand up against his chest, pushing him back slightly. “Not going to happen, Caffrey.”

He pouted for a few seconds then smiled brightly. “Do I at least get a commission?”

“Where’s my Raphael?” she countered.

“Who says I have it?”

Rolling her eyes, she turned and started down the sidewalk again. “You owe me dinner and dessert.”

Quickly falling in step with her, he said, “Well if we go back to my place, I can whip something up. Although the soufflé will have to wait for another day.”

“I don’t think so. I’m taking the painting back to my place and locking it up. There’s no way I’m leaving this painting unattended for even a minute.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Sara glanced at him and hesitated. She didn’t want to admit that tonight had been as much about learning to trust him as it had been about recovering the painting. But she couldn't tell him that—at least not the whole truth.

“I don’t trust Mozzie.”

The corner of Neal's mouth quirked and he chuckled. “Mozzie won’t steal the painting while we eat dinner.”

“No, but maybe later while we’re having sex.”

A brief look of surprise crossed his face and there was a barely noticeable hitch in his step, but he continued on as if he wasn't fazed by her brazen proclamation.

“I can say with one hundred percent certainty that Mozzie is not going to steal your painting.”

Sara loved it when she had the chance to catch Neal off guard; the times were few and far between. She also knew when to call bullshit on what came out of his mouth—a skill she'd acquired over the years and found very useful when dealing with him.

“You had Mozzie watching Ryder’s house for three days. Are you telling me he didn’t concoct some crazy plan to steal some of his art? I mean, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t hiding in the bushes right now waiting for us to leave.”

Neal sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “He’s not going to steal anything—I told him not to.”

She stopped and turned to him with a triumphant expression, pointing a finger at his chest. “ _A-ha!_ See? I knew I couldn’t trust you guys.”

“Hey now, just because Mozzie has the proclivity to–”

“Lie through his teeth and steal everything in sight?” she interrupted, giving him a look that just dared him to argue with her. While Mozzie had his charms, she knew you had to watch him carefully or he'd take you for all you were worth.

Exasperated, he shook his head. “I was going to say, take advantage of certain situations. You can trust Mozzie, he’ll always have your back.”

“Oh sure, if you need help escaping a maximum security prison, I’m sure he’s very helpful.”

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Are you saying he didn’t help you escape? That you did it all by yourself?”

“Yes, actually, but why are we discussing this? I thought you were hungry. Besides, I'm not inclined to stand around talking while we have a million dollar stolen painting on us.”

Sara's hand went to the tube slung over her back instinctively, feeling the hard plastic under her fingers. He was right, she knew that, but there was something about Neal that caused her to lose focus. And right now she needed to concentrate on getting home with the painting before anyone noticed two people dressed in black lingering on the sidewalk. 

Dinner would have to wait and, she realized with a sly grin, while there was nothing worthwhile in her fridge, there was one thing they could eat.

“I do still have some cake left over.”

Neal's eyes lit up. “Perfect.”

*~*~*~*

Sara deposited the painting in her office and locked the door behind her when they returned to her apartment. Normally she would have returned it directly to the office, but it was after-hours, and she didn’t want anyone to see her in her current getup. Or see her with Neal. There would be too many questions.

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” Neal remarked as she walked back into the kitchen. His leather jacket was slung over the back of a chair and there was a stack of takeout menus on the table in front of him. He tossed the one in hand to the side. “What are the kids going to think?”

“First a wedding, now children?” She smirked. “Never let it be said that Neal Caffrey is afraid of commitment.”

He shrugged and simply gave her a wide honest smile, looking unperturbed rather than insulted at the dig at his reputation. Not that many things managed to unnerve him, but most guys she'd met were at least hesitant about even broaching the topic of marriage and kids. Neal wasn't most guys, however—that was overly apparent.

He grinned and moved around the table towards her. “Did I tell you how much I like your outfit?”

She reached for the belt around her coat. “Oh, I gathered as much.”

"But not as much as you out of it.” He helped push her coat off and reached for the hem of her turtleneck. It was pulled up and over her head in a matter of seconds, and she quickly brushed her hair out of her eyes before going after his shirt.

They were a tangle of limbs as they undressed each other and moved toward her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

“Are you sure you don’t want any cake?” she asked, slightly breathless, as they stepped into her room. 

“Later.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, kissing her long and hard, then smiled devilishly at her. "Don’t you know that every successful art heist deserves a celebration?”

“Oh, really?” she replied coyly.

“Mmm-hmm... and I do love a good art heist,” he murmured in her ear as he pushed her towards her bed.

“I bet you do.”

She laughed as she fell backwards and he crawled on top of her.

“I’m thinking the wedding colors should be black and white.”

“And the honeymoon in a non-extradition country?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Naturally.”


End file.
